


fresh fuel for the sodium flares

by wherelovershavewings



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherelovershavewings/pseuds/wherelovershavewings
Relationships: Kah'sandra Vaxworth/Zephyr of Amthylvane
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

The druid draws, expertly and often.

“For studying,” she explains, and lets him peruse the booklet.

He halts at a page, depicting an image that, while made with a skilled hand, is clearly not entirely true to nature; the dragon, bulked up and flexing dramatically, sword in hand, clad in naught but a loincloth. Noticing his change of pace, she glances over, and bursts into laughter.

“Not quite for studying, but it’s good to tease Kah’sandra once in a while. Keeps her on her toes,” she giggles.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. A start, at the very least. “I don’t think I could see her as fearsome,” he begins to muse, but is interrupted by the woman in question, who seems to be eavesdropping,-

“You should, with arms like these,” as she curls one to show the cording muscle, exaggeratedly posing; without looking away from his scrolls, Lynne gives a wolf whistle. Dahlia yells out supportive phrases, before being interrupted by Kah’sandra’s claw roughly petting her face, purposefully messing up the hair, as Dahlia tries to bat her away.

As Kah’sandra walks away to fetch dinner, he tries to focus on Dahlia’s excitable chatter. He does not make note of the flexing shoulder as the retreating woman hoists her pack up higher, nor the tensed tricep that enables the carrying of a greatsword. Dragonborn tend to wear so little clothing, after all. Twilight started to set about an hour ago, yet somehow his skin still feels warm.

* * *

He, and by extension, his party, is unlucky enough to get a chance to reassess his opinions of the paladin’s ferocity not but two hours later. The pack of goblins is quickly dispatched, despite their larger-than-normal numbers; they were being tracked, this was not a mere scouting party.

(They’re looking for him; they found him.

He cannot go back.)

Nevertheless, Lynne and Dahlia get the upper hand fairly quickly, and Kah’sandra returns only in time to catch the tail end of it all. Dahlia, always thinking five things at once, manages to joke in the middle of it all, but when Lynne boredly confirms he’s fine, despite the gushing wound on his upper thigh, the dragon turns awfully business-like. Something shutters, in her eyes, and the remaining trio of attackers are dead in a flash, not so much a duel as a slaughter. After, she rushes to her friends, clasping hands with Dahlia and forcing a hand on Lynne, who stubbornly tries to get her away, grumbling about ‘saving spell slots’ or something; Kah’sandra just butts her head against his.

Her eyes scan the camp, looking for something, and when they land on him, they widen. Skidding to a halt in front of him, she forces him to look at her as her giant paws clasp his face, examining him. “You’re hyperventilating,” she says. Oh. Yes. So he is. He can do nothing but nod dumbly. “You are unhurt,” she states. Again, a nod. “The dungeon?” He can’t talk. He can only breathe and do his best not to think. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than go back to that place.

Her voice gets soft, softer than he’s heard it be, as she murmurs an incantation he’s not lucid enough to decipher. “Rest for now, we will eat in an hour,” she hushes him, and he tries to focus on the claw on his cheek, the points where scales meet skin. For a moment, there’s a pressure at the front of his mind. The next moment, it is gone. He sleeps.

* * *

They wake him for dinner, receiving a speared fish, still dripping hot fat, and a place around the fire. The food still takes some getting used to, so different than what he would eat at home, where fish did not reach the underwater lakes, and any meat traded for with the dwarves always heavy on the salt, dried and cured to keep it for long periods of time.

He awkwardly skins the thing, pulling the little bones out carefully, more a dissection than an attempt at filet.

(He remembers how his mother would tut when he toyed with his food when he was a child; there’s an ache beneath his breastbone.)

Quietly picking at the soft flesh, he manages to be lulled into a sense of comfort, with his companions chattering easily amongst themselves, having finished their meal far quicker. Lynne has a laissez-faire manner of wedging his paring knife behind the backbone, pulling the whole column out with a deft hand; Kah’sandra eats her fish whole.

The thought of home pulls at him again, as a bug crawls by and he is reminded of the crispy batter in which the cooks would fry the dire roach legs, the sort of unhealthy comfort food that would leave you with a warm belly and something insistent stuck between your teeth. The mildew caterpillar stuffed with garlic and mushrooms, the lavender cloud cakes his father loved so dearly that he’d wheedle with the staff to get extra. Steamed root stew with algae for birthdays. The honeysuckle drops General Tulma would get for him when escorting the trade caravan to the gnomes, like an older sister spoiling a brother.

His eyes follow the dragon’s hand as she picks up the beetle to crush it between her teeth, Dahlia pulling a face as the little thing’s shell cracks audibly.

“You’d like my home,” he says then, too sudden and loud. At her dubious look, he flushes, inexplicably embarrassed, “We also, that is-, we eat bugs, as well,” he finishes lamely, hyperaware of the tension in the air. There’s a beat, before she chuckles, the curl of her lip revealing a beetle leg stuck between her teeth, and she picks at it with a claw, as she shrugs, “I suppose I would.”


	2. but down in your arms, in your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, soft femdom, cunnilingus, yadda yadda

A long day had scraped at the last of his resolve, and he was worn out to the bone. He got like this, sometimes, fidgety and nervous, for no apparent reason. The forest floor muffled his tapping foot as his knife skimmed across the old wood in his hand, methodically shaving off pieces of tinder for the fire to be made. It was a soothing, repetitive motion, and it quieted his mind to a degree. 

He was pulled from his revery by the sound of approaching footsteps, and he smiled reflexively. K'ahsandra was always easy to hear, loudly clambering through foliage, breaking twigs underfoot. She was a wall of force, but by god, she couldn't be graceful to save the life of her. 

"Dinner!" She smiled, all teeth, as she came through the underbrush, carrying three hares in a raised fist. 

"You've been fast at work, my dove, " she said, pressing herself against his back, the hares discarded to the side, her encompassing presence an immediate balm to his nerves.

"As have you, your hunt has proven fruitful," he smiled, helping her scoop up the shaved wood. 

"I only wish you had your tools with you. The fur would make you an excellent pair of gloves, or a lining for your boots. You tend to run so cold at night."

"You are my hearth," he said simply, placing a kiss to the centre of her chest, unable to reach higher, and kneeled to get the fire ready. K'ahsandra could only breathe fire to a limited degree, and wasting that on a campfire seemed foolish when they had a stone and flint. 

Soon, the fire was roaring like a newborn drake, and their bellies were full. He wiped his greasy hands on a cloth, continueing to pick at it as that pesky restlessness seeped back in, when a large paw paused his movements. 

"You are unwell, my treasure." 

He let out a sigh, giving an embarassed chuckle when she immediately moved to sit behind him, cradling the base of his skull to scratch at his scalp.   
Once, ages ago, he had gotten cross with her over it, accusing her of coddling him. He still remembers her surprised face, and laughs at the memory.   
_"I want to touch you! If anything, I'm being selfish!_ " He lets himself lean against her broad chest.

"We've been out in the open for so long, I'm simply not used to it. The caves are my home, out here we are so exposed. I can't help feel off-kilter." 

Her strong arm snaked around his torso, pulling him tighter to her, as her other hand held the base of his sore neck, and squeezed. He hadn't realised how tightly he had been carrying himself, until he felt her large paw move slow, heavy circles into the base of his skull, loosening the muscle. 

"I'll take care of you," she said, pressing a smiling kiss into his hair, at which he gave a reedy huff. It was silly, how heavily he reacted to her proximity, and more than a bit frustrating. K'ahsandra, nice and caring, thoughtfully giving him a neck massage, and all he could focus on was the heavy paw against his sternum, her strong legs caging him in, the low purr in her chest vibrating against his back, warmth gathering in his belly.

"Ah, dear, you might want to slow down," he mumbled, face hot as his loose breeches didn't hide much, the outline of his cock already half-hard and heavy against his thigh.

K'ahsandra just gave an amused chuckle as she moved her hand from his neck to his thigh. 

"Oh my, is that for me?" She said, mock-surprised as she leaned her chin on his shoulder, her cool face next to his heated skin. "I told you I'd take care of you," she said, as her claw traced the length of him through his trousers.

"Better undress me then, as I don't care for doing laundry right now," his snark turning into a huff as she bit at his shoulder. 

"I have half a mind of letting you come in your pants, with a mouth like that," she admonished, accompanied by a firm squeeze. Her arm around him was like a brace, and made it impossible to grind against her hand.

Another squeeze. "Will you be good for me?" 

"Hrgh- merciful Gods, yes," he ground out, squirming in her grip, "fuck me, suffocate me, i don't _care,_ just, please-" he inhaled sharply as she pulled him free, the chill twilight air a shock against his drooling cockhead, making him shiver as she thumbed at the slit. 

She kept him close, cradled against her torso, slowly stroking him as she allowed a gentler tone, murmuring, "What do you need?" Followed by a tight grip on his dick as she sucked a bruise into his neck, allowing him to ask for her without letting her leash slacken. 

Asking was often still hard. He admired her resolute manner of telling him her desires, often letting him know in an infuriatingly business-like tone, exactly how she wanted him to fuck her. But here, sat on the damp earth, stray pine needles sticking to his hands as she worked him with practised ease, the words came easy. 

"I want to feel your shape against me. I want you to wind my hair around your fist and guide my mouth as you see fit."

She pressed more firmly against him, grinding her cunt against his lower back, as she grunted, "that can be arranged," loosening her grip on him to help him turn towards her. 

Leaning his face against her thigh, he rucked up her tunic to reveal her slit, crawling closer on his knees to press his mouth above it, breathing her in while she shivered. 

"Heh, tickles," she smiled, as five pinpricks of pressure touched against his scalp, gently carding through his hair, before grabbing the ends, winding once, twice aound her fist, the strands allowing him to be moved like a marionette. His cock leaked another drop of precum, and a shudder ran through him as he felt it glide to the base of his shaft. 

"Is this alright?" K'ahsandra asked, gently tugging on his hair.

He managed a sigh, pressing his nails into his knees to stop himself from taking himself in hand. 

Her hand tightened. "Zeph, yes or no?" 

He smiled, swallowed thickly. "Yes."

"Very good." Then, more stern. "Let's get to work." 

He moved, then, pressing the flat of his tongue against her, the weight of her palm a reassuring presence against his head as he lapped slowly, taking his time to warm her up, putting his hands against her smooth stomach for leverage. K'ahsandra's free hand stroked his face, letting a thumb pull at his bottom lip as he picked up speed, making his movements more messy.

"Aren't you pretty," she sighed, her heated gaze stocking the fire in his belly. 

He closed hid eyes and pressed his mouth more firmly to her entrance, sucking on her clit as his hips thrust helplessly at nothing, whining into her cunt. She held him there for a few long seconds, dragging out the moment as she ground against his mouth, smoke escaping from her flared nostrils with every grunt. Finally, she slackened her grip, carding gently through his hair as he panted wetly against her opening. 

"Come here," she motioned, helping him stand as he found his footing, cooing sympathetically when he hissed at the pinpricks in his legs as his bloodflow returned. She pulled him onto her lap sideways, so she could rub some feeling back into his calves, slowly letting her hands wander higher. 

"You've been very good, starlight," she murmured, biting at the shell of his ear, tracing the lobe with her tongue. 

Her warm hand encircled his cock in a solid grip, the precum allowing for a more comfortable movement, as she jacked him off in a steady rhythm. The heat of her palm felt almost scorching after the cool air had touched him, and she gave him no time to adjust, keeping pace as she used her other hand to stroke his chest, fingers intermittently rubbing at a nipple through the thin fabric of his tunic, making him squirm. 

She kept this up, kissing his temple, softly speaking tender words into the crown of his hair as his muscles slackened and his breathing became less steady, as he pressed his forehead into her neck as he weakly scrabbled at her arm, his hips meeting her tight grip, his come sliding down her fist as he gave a grunt, which turned into a whine when she continued to play with his oversensitive cockhead. 

"Ah, right," letting go of his shaft, quickly licking the back of her hand before carefully tucking him back into his trousers. "Your dick is cute; I tend to get distracted."

Still getting his breathing to slow, he took a moment to let that sink in, before going, "what?" 

She cradled his jaw to make eye contact, responding in a sincere tone, "Your dick. It's nice. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a fan." 

He tried to think of a way to retort, but she shushed him, tucking him to her chest so she could get up, walking them the few feet to their bedroll. The sudden weightlessness made him grab at her shoulder, at which she immediately strengthened her grip on him, a steady reassurance.   
She clumsily kicked the bedcover back, placing him down and getting his belts and shoes off in record time, then her own.   
Pulling the blankets over them both, he suddenly felt how his body had finally unwound its coil, making him slump heavily against her. 

She kissed his shoulder, tucking his head under her chin. "Sweetest, rest now," she said, while her arm moved around his front to cradle him close. His eyelids were closed before his retort could leave his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to write more often, as I do enjoy doing so. Work title is from The Mountain Goats' 'Broom People'.


End file.
